The Bath
by akili
Summary: While Nyota is gone, Spock reflects on the beginning of a private ritual. This story is connected to Second Chances.


Disclaimer: I don't own Spock or Nyota.

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Spock checked the temperature of the water. It was exactly forty five degrees Celsius. He knew it was illogical, but he checked the entries and windows one last time. Nyota had a key code to Spock's apartment and usually, she was more than willing to accommodate his physical needs, but the idea of her walking in on him was alarming. Nyota was away on an internship in Korea and it was highly improbable that she would return to catch him in the midst of this increasingly infrequent ritual. Still, Spock, more than anyone, was a creature of habit.

It had never been, since they were reunited that first day of classes, beyond Spock to notice that Nyota was an attractive female. If Spock were more inclined toward excessive language, he might declare her more fair than a hot morning on Vulcan; however, as it was, he was was satisfied to stay quietly attuned to the curve of her hip as it flared from her waist, the unique roundness of her thigh as it peeked from beneath her uniform and the copper tones that stood out on her collarbone when the sun landed upon her neck.

And that was how it had all started. It was logical, Spock knew, to eat when one was hungry and to sleep when one was not well. It was more difficult to discern the application of such logic when it came to the most unruly passions that swirled around within him. His body, it seemed, wanted nothing more to partake of Nyota. He had no desire to sample anyone else. Unlike his usual appetites where bread would do when there was no rice and tea was an adequate replacement for coffee, nothing Spock could think of would distract his stubborn body from the idea of Nyota Uhura.

It had become so problematic that Spock had taken to meditating about it exclusively. He was unsuccessful. As he cleared his mind of thoughts, calculations and stresses inevitably Nyota would creep in. Perhaps she would be sitting in the front row, her legs crossed beneath the short skirt of her uniform, her thigh swelling deliciously as it ascended further into the shadows of the red fabric. Or she might be up early, wearing shorts that revealed what even her skirt was too modest to show; her body taught and smooth beneath the jogging attire. She would continue running in Spock's mind, her body reacting to the chill of the morning in ways that were too provocative to think about during any time that he was expected to be fully functional, her sweat accentuating every robust mound of flesh that moved in time with her strides.

Spock thought that a bath might help after failing to suppress such inappropriate thoughts. Often Spock had found that the indulgence of a bath, something he had never had until he came to Earth, to be useful in a number of ways. He enjoyed that he could quickly adjust his core temperature after a long chilly day in San Francisco and the sensation of water seemed to lull him into a serene state with no effort on his part. Spock also found that the feeling of buoyancy relaxed him enough to complete complex equations easily. Truly, it had been a logical idea when he tried it.

That first time, Spock had run the water and slipped in under it while it continued to fill the tub. Inhaling the steam and enjoying the rushing splash of the water as it met itself and his feet, Spock slid down and closed his eyes, the water cascading from the faucet and across his thighs. Conscious of everything in his body, Spock began thinking about thighs. Again. Spock took a steadying breath, only slightly attuned to his body's temperature changes against the water.

As the tub filled, the buoyancy worked against Spock. He was not as attuned to the effect of gravity on certain parts of his body. Of course, it wasn't his fault. The sliding, cascading, stimulating water was having a wholly unforeseen impact on the half-Vulcan and then there was Cadet Uhura. Of course she could not be faulted for being a particularly desirable specimen of humanity any more than she could help being a remarkably singular young woman intellectually. Still, when Spock eventually opened his eyes after noticing an unusual yet familiar tightness at the bottom of his abdomen, he was displeased to see what was bobbing on the gentle current.

Spock huffed his displeasure into the building steam. Mostly displeasure. He sat up again and tried to think thoughts that would lessen his arousal. Admiral Gyall, the Tellarian xenobiology dean, was frequently used by Spock when he had this problem during the day but for some reason the image of Nyota forced the admiral out of Spock's mind with some vigor. Every time he thought of Gyall's somewhat wrinkled and waxy face, beady black eyes and bushy eyebrows she would disintegrate into Nyota's long legs, succulent hips and unfathomably small waist. Spock shook himself out of frustration. The action was so violent that he caused the water to slosh around him, caressing his most sensitive parts. Suddenly the most logical solution was clear.

If his body would not obey the directives of his mind, the clear answer was to deliver to his body that which would most satisfy it on a short term basis. Indeed, when one was hungry it was logical to eat a small and less nourishing thing when nothing of substantial portion and sufficient nutritious worth was to be had. It made perfect sense.

Spock had not attempted any such thing since he was an adolescent, having neither the firm control of his hormonal body nor the firm grasp of repression techniques that he had subsequently mastered. Spock closed his eyes. Instantly an image of Nyota appeared before him. She was sitting in the rare sunshine on a warm spring day. She sat on a bench in the quad, her legs crossed and her standard issue top folded neatly beside her to feel the sun on her arms. She had a PADD in her hand and her hair was down, swept over her shoulder. Beneath her standard issue top she wore a sleeveless tee, one that dipped down far enough that Spock had seen the delicate rise of her breasts just at the edge of the collar. Nyota leaned forward, focused on her reading and Spock could see the intricate lace of the undergarment that she wore to restrain them. Suddenly, Spock was sliding his fingertips along the underside of himself awash with the dueling sensitivity of his telepathic pads and his most recently blood engorged body part.

Spock continued in the water, his hand tensing and releasing for some time. He moved his wrist and slid his fingertips along himself, gently applying pressure to the curve at the tip of himself. He imagined what Nyota might look like without the sheer shirt that she wore, with only the slight undergarment on in its stead. He imagined the taste of her on his tongue, the scent of her skin in his nose. He imagined what it would be like if she felt similarly toward him, if she desired him and ran her hands over his body. Spock had an excellent mind and was clearly able to imagine all of these things, his arm violently splashing in the water.

Finally, he exploded. The image of Nyota standing over him and smiling down at him had done it. As Spock looked at the water as drained from the tub, he wondered why it was that image and not one more graphic that had sent him beyond. Spock was thankful of course, he was relieved now and thought he could focus on other things, but it was puzzling nonetheless. At the time, Spock thought it would be a good idea to research something about Vulcan arousal if he could find anything. Or perhaps, he thought before it had become a standard practice, he would ask Captain Pike when they met for drinks at the jazz bar.

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Just a little extra that had been floating around from the Second Chances story. Any risque story without the word 'member' or 'manhood' is a story that is alright with me.


End file.
